


Tumbling Kingsman

by esama



Series: Tumbling Snippets [6]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Sherlock (TV), Stargate - All Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 15,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Kingsman snippets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demonic Gentleman is, surprisingly enough, not a contradictory statement

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Darlene, many thanks

That whole thing about tempting people into sin and to selling their souls and all that? Yeah, that doesn't actually happen.

Humans are damn well capable of damming themselves to Hell. They do it all the time everywhere, a bit of sinning here and there, or a fucking lot of it all at once - or, Hell, the really talented ones can do a lot of it all the fucking time. The thing is; humans sin. They're good at it. And while the whole concept of sin has changed a lot in the last couple thousand years, there has never been any need for tempting, no contracts of great power at the cost of one's soul, none of that.

Hell has a damn great admittance rate and the point behind demons was never to boost sales. No, they were more like debt collectors.

Or garbage men; it's the same thing really.

 

* * *

 

Gary Unwin was born dead. He stayed dead for about a fraction of a second before the demon settled in. And then he began to howl.

(Later Michelle will tell a story of the birth - that when he was born, he must've farted because there was this god-awful smell on him, like rotten eggs. And that's where the name comes from and though Eggsy manages to get the sulphur stink under control eventually, the name sticks.)

(That's fine, though. He's been called worse.)

 

* * *

 

It's fine to get attached. That's sort of the point anyway. Humans with their complicated human morals and faiths and beliefs. They are the point.

Eggsy loves humanity with a fallen angel's fervour - bitterly and eagerly. Loves their crude, filthy physicality and their visceral emotions and their ideas and blindingly bright fucking souls.

He loves them because, like all angels - fallen or otherwise - that's what he was created to do.

(His appreciation for the things humans create, that's a whole different thing. Humans do novelty so well and where else can you get shoes with wings? And Eggsy fucking loves the shoes. The irony of wearing them never stops being funny.)

So Eggsy loves his human parents unashamedly and without restraint. It doesn't hurt that neither of them is slated for Hell.

Not yet anyway.

(He checks in later. Lee died killing sinners and saving lives and went straight to heaven. Eggsy's glad for it, but it's a bit of a shame really. He could've used Lee.)

 

* * *

 

There are rules to being on Earth. Humans are the chosen people, the Creator's favourites. Killing them is out of the question. Even damaging them too badly is a big no-no.

The rest is just common sense though. Especially in the modern human era of new and exciting - and oftentimes fucking annoying - technology. No flashy power shows, no supernatural shit, none of that. Because just imagine how much fucking worse it would make the cleanup if humans knew, not just believed but actually knew?

(In an unrelated note, the spread of atheism is about the greatest damn thing that ever happened to demon-kind.)

So as much as Eggsy would love it, he can't kill Dean, that's just not how it works. What he can do is a bit more subtle - though only a bit - and truth be told, Dean is handy to have around. Because while Eggsy can't kill people, he can make people kill people.

And that is what he and every other demon on Earth is for. To kill - make people kill - people. Specifically sinners.

Cleaning out the moral trash and shit.

(And while redemption is a thing, there is also a point of no return. It's vague and different with each person, but it is very real.)

Dean is oh so very easy to influence. Just get him drunk enough, mad enough, and violent enough, and then all he needs is a target. And once Eggsy starts dealing for the man, it gets very easy to direct Dean's violence in any given direction. All he has to say is that someone said or did something Dean doesn't approve of and the man will fly off the fucking handle to teach them a lesson.

Drug dealers have a very high mortality rate in their neighbourhood.

 

* * *

 

Normally, that would be enough. There's no quota really, Eggsy can deal away with as many - or as few - sinners as he likes and it's good enough. There are thousands of demons doing the same boring maintenance he's doing and it barely makes a dent. Humans number in the billions now after all. So no one would much notice if one demon isn't working his damned hardest.

But Eggsy is a demon and demons are nothing if not opportunistic when there's a chance. That was what had them all falling from grace in the first fucking place.

And the beautiful, almost artistic violence embodied in Harry Hart would be a thousands times more effective than the brutish anger of Dean Baker.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy will never be a Kingsman. The whole not killing thing will make that impossible. But that doesn't mean he can't enjoy the whole ordeal.

Doesn't mean he can't take advantage of it.

And while Kingsman agents aren't easy to take advantage off, they're damn good at killing people - and they seem to have an affinity for sinners. Both as staff members and as targets.

It's almost too fucking prefect.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy doesn't kill a dog. He could… but he doesn't.

Harry on the other hand kills a church full of sinners in a glorious, chaotic melee - and Eggsy loves him, loves him desperately and bitterly and watches him die.

Funny thing about Valentine's plot is that Hell has nothing to do with it. It's not something anyone in Hell would ever come up with. It risks too many innocent, pure souls and they've all put too much effort into Earth's maintenance to just trash it like that.

No, it's a plot only a human could come up with. And though the demon in Eggsy appreciates the wholesale destruction of millions of sinners… he was an angel first.

And he fucking loves humanity.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy fights the flood of soldiers with an umbrella and ring that's still stunning people long after he's used up the battery. It's too much. There's too many.

He's going to fucking fail. So close to something good - so close to making Harry's death worth the fucking loss - and he's going to fail.

It's more bitterness that makes him ask. He's not even that subtle about it. He doesn't expect Merlin to do it.

He doesn't stop to think what it might mean for him that Merlin does it - at his suggestion. There's no time.

Valentine dies, skewered by his own assistant - and fuck did that ever take some arranging. Eggsy gets only a split of a second to enjoy his victory through.

He dies with Gazelle's blade tearing right through his human heart.

 

* * *

 

He gets a promotion for the incident. His run as Gary Eggsy Unwin had been short, but he'd done a Hell of a lot more than most demons did in four times as much time. He'd saved millions of innocents and killed hundreds of Earth's worst sinners. Not bad at all.

He also gets a special reward for a job well done, which he cashes in immediately. And then he politely declines the promotion.

Instead he turns and heads back to Earth - with Harry Hart's soul firmly in his grasp.


	2. Excalibur

Kingsman has its traditions and legends, a whole mythos build around its agents and founders. It has an urban legend too.

It's said that the day after an Arthur takes his place at the top of the organization, Kingsman tailors get a visitor. A ruffian really, rough and utterly unrefined, he walks in cool as you please and if the tailors fail to chase him out, he asks a question.

"Can I see Arthur?"

It isn't until the fourth Arthur that the answer is yes. There is no record of the first visit, the second visit was brushed aside and quickly forgotten, only remembered later because the third time it is the same tailor who chases the young man out.

The fourth time the newly renamed Arthur is down at the shop and so, when the ruffian comes and asks, "Can I see Arthur?" the answer is, "I'm right over here."

And the young man looks at him up and down, and says "You ain't Arthur." And with that he leaves.

It happens with every new Arthur and eventually the agents start keeping track. It's always the same type of young man, rough around the edges, horribly unpolished, with worn clothes and a steely look. He always asks just the one thing. And when an Arthur sees him, he rejects their claim to the name and leaves.

It takes concealed cameras and proper facial recognition techniques to find the striking resemblance between every appearance - and that despite the ten years between appearances at their longest, the man doesn't seem to age. The clothes change, always to fit whatever you might find on London back alleys in that particular time - but the man in them doesn't change.

When the internet comes, so does the sprawl of history the man has - his face can be found in the army, the navy, the marines flying a plane in a war zone - dropping bombs as far back as during World War II. The names and uniforms change, but the face stays the same.

It's probably just a coincidence, but it is one that makes for a good, exciting story.

Harry never paid much attention to the legend. He always had better, more pressing things to do. He never saw the pictures or the theories.

He saw a brilliant military service record and approached a promising candidate for Lancelot's position. When Lee Unwin looks at him long and hard, he doesn't let it get to him.

("You ain't Arthur," Lee says to Chester King, and he sounds fucking smug about it. Chester hates him for it.)

Lee's sacrifice gets to Harry though. The man threw himself onto a grenade without a second thought and sometimes Harry can still hear him shout, "Get back, Sire!"

Eggsy Unwin resembles his father to a terrifying degree. Really he's like his father's clone. He even stares at Harry the same - and Harry refuses to call it anything more than perhaps hero worship. Utter devotion is simply too strong a concept for an acquaintance so short.

Honestly Eggsy doesn't know him at all.

Later, when Chester King's fallen on his own sword and Eggsy's become a well-honed weapon of Kingsman, he'll saunter into the tailor shop and ask "Can I see Arthur?" and no one will think about it twice.


	3. Infusionarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by idhren: infusionarium

Taking on a passenger - that's what it's called. What a sweet and innocent name for such a terrifying fucking concept.

It's the closest humanity's come to finding immortality. Take the mind of person A and put it into the body of person B - usually WITH person B still present in there. With a bit of surgical adjustments, lab grown brain implants and what not, and you can just about fit both people up there.

It's, of course, expensive as hell. The sort of expensive that it's only old rich fucks that can afford it. The sort of expensive that there's a whole industry of people working on it, with managers and fucking talent scouts looking for suitable hosts.

Hosts. Like they're taking on fucking parasites. Which they kind of are.

Eggsy's had a scout approach him on three occasions. First straight out of school and wasn't that creepy as shit, the idea of some ancient fuck wanting to take residence in his nubile young head. Then after the marines - they offered money much higher that time, apparently a military trained host was much more valuable than a mere teenage one.

And now. In the fucking police station.

"It's easily enough money to pay the bail," the scout tells him. "Enough to make all of this better."

A delinquent, even one in as good a shape as Eggsy, isn't worth as much as a marine drop out - or as much as a nubile teenager. But it would still gain him a small fortune. Enough to avoid a prison sentence, easy.

But is that enough to sign away his life, freedom and headspace? Fuck, it isn't, nothing is - but on the other side… it's not just 18 months of jail time for him. It's also 18 months Dean will be alone with his mum with his baby sister. Without Eggsy there, running interference…

He might have no family left once he comes out.

And even hosts have rights. More rights than passengers, even. Having a passenger would fucking ruin his life, but at least he'd still be around to make sure his mum and sister would be alright.

"Fuck it," Eggsy says through gritted teeth, and signs his body away.

 

* * *

 

The agency that basically buys him from himself fucking sells him on before the day is out. While Eggsy settles the whole ramming into a police car thing, his contract is picked up by a whole different organisation. Which embodies a whole different level of shady.

Somehow they actually manage to make people think that a fucking tailor shop wanted to buy a brain host. What the actual fuck.

Still, their facilities are state of art and they treat Eggsy pretty damn nice - aside from the million blood samples, biopsies and tests. All apparently necessary for growing compatible implants to increase his "carrying capacity".

He never sees who they're prepping him for through - reason being that the person is basically a brain in a jar, technically already dead. Which is just fucking…

"If he's fucking dead, how the fuck -?" Eggsy asks.

In answer, Merlin knocks him out for the first implant procedure. The first one. The first of about twenty brain surgeries. Fucking nice.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes all together three months to prep him for hosting. Eggsy's brain is fucking jostling around in his head once it's all done, and he's freaking done with the whole thing. The money's looking less and less worth it each passing day.

All though Eggsy is pretty sure Kingsman had something to do with Dean's sudden trip to prison so… there's that.

Still, everything is ready. Merlin gives him that last minute way out - it's only about a 60 percent success rate he's dealing with after all. Eggsy scoffs at him, gets high on the knock out cocktail and then…

Then they wake up, together.

And later on Eggsy has to admit that there's some perks to hosting. Like having a front row seat view on Harry Hart using his body to beat the shit out of Dean's dogs.

And the whole secret agent thing is pretty sick too.

(As is Harry Hart but Eggsy don't need to say that aloud.)


	4. Kingsman/Temeraire cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by ascending-royal: How about kingsman/temeraire where Eggsy and Harry are dragons and Roxy and Merlin are their captains. Or the reverse, whichever you prefer.

Kingsman dragons are a very special breed.

Bred specifically not only for their special qualities, they are also bred for patriotic loyalty, a side effect of which is that their concepts about captains are… different.

It isn't good enough to put a candidate in front of one with a pile of meat and expect it to just take. No. The captaincy had to be earned through trials. And the trials could take anywhere from a week to months. It was the same whether it was the first or the fourteenth captain.

Arthur, a particularly picky old Kingsman, wasn't satisfied with anything less than six months when picking Chester King to be his third captain for example.

And Harry Hart had to go through three months of trials before the recently hatched Galahad would have him.

"It is like that always," he tells Eggsy, while pushing the young man towards Lancelot's landing grounds. "And I assure you, a Kingsman doesn't care about the circumstances of your birth - merely your worth."

"Which, thanks to the circumstances of my birth, ain't fucking much," Eggsy grumbles.

"Nonsense. Your father was very nearly Lancelot's first captain - and if he could have, Lancelot would have given him the rank posthumously, which says something about how well your father impressed him."

Eggsy doesn't become Lancelot's captain - that honour goes to Roxanne Morton, who beat the competition without any trouble. That is fine, though. Eggsy coming in as a very close second gives Harry all the justification he needs to make the young man his first lieutenant, his previous one having died in the same battle that claimed Lancelot's previous captain's life.

This way, perhaps Eggsy would stay close enough that when the time came for Galahad to hold trials again…


	5. Successors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by iamemeraldfox: New agents inheriting memories from the original Knights, like from the real Lancelot, Or all agents, who came before them.

While Eggsy really doesn't care for the fact that the back of his head has to be shaved, he doesn't say shit.

Because a moment later, Merlin inserts the thing into his head and that, even though it hurts like almighty fuck, is worth fucking everything.

Harry's knowledge flooding into the forefront of his mind is worth everything.

"It'll take about a week to unspool," Merlin says and leaves an awed Eggsy to stare at nothing - at all the things flashing behind his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Roxy is going through the same thing with Lancelot's memories. Together they shamble around the Kingsman HQ like two star-struck zombies, vacantly staring at empty air.

The Kingsman staff gives them room when they encounter them in the corridors, patiently taking them by the hand and walking them back to safety when they're about to walk off a balcony. They even make sure they eat properly and everything.

It's apparently what every new agent does - they become a bit brainless while the knowledge settles.

"There's just… so much," Roxy says, breathless.

Eggsy remembers his father dying from Harry's perspective and just nods.

The value of knowing what all previous Galahads knew is nearly immeasurable.

Knowing what Harry Hart knew is utterly priceless.

 

* * *

 

The last thing Harry thought was "If I don't make it, please tell Eggsy I'm…" and then nothing.


	6. Zombies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by anonymous: Zombie apocalypse style kingsman?

Funny how it took V-Day and the dawn of fucking walking corpses for Eggsy to start considering the council estate "home".

But it turns out - brutalist architecture is pretty damn defensible. It's all the fucking concrete, the walls, narrow walkways between harsh cuts of stairs. All it really takes is blocking off the lower levels and suddenly their ugly ass block of flats turns into a fortress big enough to hold about half a thousand people. Not bad, considering how fast all those fancy apartment buildings and skyscrapers with their state of the art security features became corpse infested death traps.

Still people talk of leaving. Going somewhere safer, finding a safe zone. Idiots. Granted, the city isn't exactly the safest but it's not like anyplace else is safer. It's all gone to shit, there ain't no escaping it.

Eggsy might be the only one with that opinion, thought. He might also be a bit fucked up in the head, because he feels more at home in the apocalypse than he ever did in the world before.

Okay it's more than a bit fucked up, but it's the sort of fucked up that's keeping people alive and they're sure as hell not complaining when he takes out the horde outside their walls or heads out and comes back with some actual food. They just complain all the other times.

If it was up to him then sure he'd like the world go back to normal. But it ain't, so no one got no fucking right to blame him making himself at home in the fucking here and now.

That's what he thinks as he freeruns through the city, making the occasional lunge downwards to stick a blade in a corpse's spine and stop their shambling about. He's good at it and he's got the fucking right to enjoy what he's good at and fuck all those timid little fucks who get outraged by him "taking joy in murdering all those people!"

"They're fucking walking corpses, you can't murder corpses," he mutters and drops down to a deserted street, makeshift sword at the ready. There's corpses of the unmoving variety, but no shambling ones. No activity. Interesting.

He turns to head into the pharmaceutical that's his target, and then stops. There's someone inside. Quick he takes out a pistol - no bullets left, but it's still a good deterrent against actual living people.

Then he heads inside.

And comes face to face with a fucking umbrella.


	7. Star Wars/ Kingsman cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Anonymous: jedi kingsman / star wars kingsman

"If you're willing to work hard and adapt, you can transform."

"Bruv, I hate to break this to you, but there ain't no fucking transforming from the Dark Side."

The Jedi presses his lips together tight in disapproval and Eggsy kind of wants to shove a lightsaber in his gut. He doesn't though, mainly because his lightsaber is hanging from the Jedi's belt and Eggsy might be a Dark-sider but he isn't a fucking lunatic.

"There are those who have managed it," the Jedi says and continues before Eggsy can ask if the posh bastard really thinks he looks like someone related to Alderaanian royalty. "But that wasn't what I meant."

"Then the fuck did you mean?"

The Jedi sighs at his language but pushes forward. "There are ways to harness one's… more violent impulses and then apply them in a controlled manner for a good cause. And you, I believe, want to do something good with your life."

Eggsy stares at him in disbelief. "You have no fucking clue, do you? What the fuck do you think the Dark Side is like? There ain't no fucking harnessing it."

"I assure you there is."

"I assure you you're full of shit."

The Jedi sighs again. "Eggsy, you may trust me on this. There is a way. It is not an easy one but it is very real."

Eggsy narrows his eyes at him, at his dark robes and tunics, all so fucking neat and proper. "Fuck," he then says, in something like awe. "You ain't no damn Jedi, are you?"

The non-Jedi arches his eyebrows. "Well?" he asks and takes Eggsy's lightsaber, holding it out.

Eggsy takes it and doesn't shove it in the man's gut after all.


	8. AU thing

Michelle Unwin calls seventeen years later and sobs "Oxfords not brogues" into the phone through swollen lips.

Harry arranges everything in two phone calls - Dean Baker is quickly arrested and Michelle and her daughter enjoy the best hospital care money can buy for the next two weeks. Michelle won't say what happened precisely, but her daughter's cranial fractures speak for themselves.

"Whatever happened to your son, Mrs. Baker?" Harry asks curiously. Young Eggsy would be in his early twenties now - surely he'd be interested in his mother's and sister's condition.

"Eggsy?" Michelle asks, and stares at him, tired and heartbroken. "Ran away years ago. The police said that he's probably…"

Harry arranges her speedy divorce and Mr. Baker is sentenced to a dozen years in prison. He leaves Mrs. and young Ms. Baker at the hospital with enough money to manage for the next few months and his heartiest well wishes.

That should be the end of it. But it isn't.

 

* * *

 

Curiosity piqued, Harry spends a day looking into the matter of Gary Unwin.

Disappeared at the tender age of eleven the boy hadn't left behind much of a trail. Few years' worth of school records that speak of a perfect student, marked down as being exceptionally bright with high marks in sports and especially in gymnastics. The last annotation by his teachers suggested putting the boy on an accelerated learning program - he'd also almost been given a sports stipend, just before his disappearance.

The police records about the disappearance itself are half assed at best. The investigator had seen the living conditions of his family, heard about the animosity between Gary and his new stepfather and put together two and two together - and gotten the sum of three out of the equation. The disappearance of a bright young boy was classified as a young delinquent running away from a difficult home situation and only a token effort was put into the investigation.

And so Eggsy Unwin had vanished more than ten years ago and no-one had given a shit.

 

* * *

 

There isn't actually anything Harry can do about the case of Eggsy Unwin - the trail went cold years ago and there hasn't been as much as a sighting since. Chances are the boy died years ago, with no-one the wiser.

It's a pity - Eggsy's records speak of a promising young man and Harry has no doubt that Lee's son would've grown to be a remarkable man, had he been given the chance.


	9. Care and Custody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by peaceful-fury: Eggsy raising his sister

Eggsy's almost called the number on the medal a hundred times - when he finally does, it's not for himself.

It's two months after Daisy's birth, and his mother is dead. The circumstances surrounding the death are even more horrible than Eggsy had feared they would be, and as much as he tries not to think about it, it's unavoidable. He has too many nightmares.

It's not her death that has him begging for a miracle - it's the fucked up aftermath.

"Please," he says to the phone. "He beat my mother to death and they're going to pin it on me and they're just going to give Daisy to him and -"

"I'm sorry," the operator says. "You have the wrong number."

"Wait wait wait - uh, oxfords not brogues?"

The woman hangs up on him and he almost fucking cries. He's going to jail for what Dean had done just because he happens to have a bit of a record and they were just going to give his baby sister to a murderer and there weren't any miracles to save either of them.

Except there is and Eggsy gets his miracle. He gets Harry Hart.

 

* * *

 

Dean shows up at the police station, sobbing through a confession. Eggsy walks out with his wailing baby sister, new guardianship papers and a whole new level of panic.

"Eggsy," a voice calls him and there he is. "Need a lift home?"

"Haven't got much of a home to go to," Eggsy answers, bouncing Daisy and trying not to freak out.

The posh man considers that for a moment and then offers: "Would you like one?"

Maybe Eggsy should've been a bit more suspicious about it - but it had been a fucking horrible day and he was exhausted.

He doesn't even hesitate.


	10. Kentucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by dracontia: Eggsy went to Kentucky with Galahad.

"I'll sort this mess when I get back."

  
"Well, I ain't gonna be here."   
  
They glare at each other hard for a moment before Harry tsks and pulls his glasses on again. "Prepare the plane for two," he says to Merlin and then to Eggsy; "Come on."  
  
Eggsy goes because the alternative is going back to the Black Prince and finishing his business with Dean - and he has a feeling that if he does that, Harry will call it quits with him with a finality he can't do anything to change.   
  
The drive to Kingsman HQ is unbearably tense and Harry remains absolutely thunderous all the way on board the plane waiting for them. Eggsy has a feeling Merlin is trying to talk sense into Harry about bringing him along - Harry mutters something along the lines of "With all due respect, kindly piss off," as he takes the pilot seat with all the confidence of a well trained and experienced professional.   
  
And then they're in the air, heading over the pond. Harry puts the plane on autopilot and turns to Eggsy. By that time they're both cooled off a bit but certainly not enough - Eggsy has whole new arguments about shooting dogs and Harry shoots them all down while shoving a suitcase at Eggsy.   
  
"What's this, then?" Eggsy asks suspiciously.   
  
"Something I intended to give you later today - for a difficult decision well made," Harry says cuttingly. "Put it on."   
  
It's a Kingsman suit and never has his own reflection made Eggsy squirm with guilt quite as much as it does then. 

He looks good in it and that makes it just that much worse. 

 

* * *

  
  
Harry doesn't take him to the church, settling him up with surveillance equipment in a nearby hotel instead. There, Eggsy has the dubious pleasure of listening to Merlin and Arthur both bitching at Galahad about him, with no leave to defend himself - or Harry for that matter.   
  
Arthur is adamant that Eggsy will never be Kingsman, that Harry made a mistake picking him up, wasting everyone's time and money. Fucking shite, all of it.   
  
And then Harry starts butchering people and Eggsy ditches the surveillance stuff faster than he's ever done anything in his life.   


* * *

  
  
He gets there just in time to see the half hidden gun in Valentine's hand.


	11. Superior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Anonymous: Eggsy's mum marvels at the changes he's gone through?

He looks so much like his dad now, that sometimes it hurts to look at him.

Lee wore a suit just like Eggsy does now. Eggsy is a lot more meticulous about it, though - gone are the days of messy closets and rubbish under the bed. Eggsy Unwin keeps his shit tidy now, everything pressed and ironed and laid out in neat rows in his closet. But the similarities are striking, even with the nearly pointed way Eggsy carries his finery.

Michelle can't say it's Eggsy taking after his father though - because it isn't that at all. Eggsy can barely even remember Lee as it is - he probably can't remember details like that. No, it's more like what Lee could've been, being realised in Eggsy.

Lee had never managed to get the hair right, hadn't gotten the posture right. He'd worn it all like an uniform, stiffly and proudly. Eggsy wears his with obvious pleasure. The suit, the shoes, the glasses, the watch, even the signet ring on his little finger. He pulls it all on with the sort of hedonistic delight Michelle used to wear summer dresses with, when she'd been younger.

"Superior to your former self," Eggsy murmurs to his reflection after he's done with his hair. He even speaks differently now.

It's becoming second nature for Eggsy, the suit. Under it, he's becoming someone else.


	12. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by cyanidelemons: Someone tries to start shit with Eggsy while he's on route to a kingsmen thing. It doesn't go well for them

Eggsy loves the suits, he really does. But really - no one tried to rob him in broad daylight before he started to wear them. Especially not as many times.

People try to rob Eggsy a lot these days. They're not even good attempts.

The first one brandishes a knife at him and calls him a posh fuck, telling him to hand over his wallet, phone and watch; just like that, no tussle or anything. Eggsy leaves him unconscious in an alley and honestly, he finds the whole thing hilarious.

And then it happens again. He's hanging about a mall, waiting on a supposed bomber to make an appearance when someone presses a knife against his back and tells him he was to go to the ATM and get as much money out as he can draw, and no fuss now. Eggsy drops him with an amnesia dart and more irritated by the distraction than anything else, he goes back to work.

And then it happens again. And again. And again.

The thing is, the Kingsman suits are damn well made. They're slimming for one and they can hide a multitude of sins - concealed weapons and broad shoulders both. And according to Roxy, Eggsy cleans up good. So good, in fact, that he cleans about five years off his appearance. Which leaves him with a grand total of "skinny teenager in a stupidly expensive suit".

"You're basically walking bait, you know," she says, utterly unsympathetic. "Consider it an advantage. It'll make people underestimate you."

"I'd prefer they didn't underestimate me in the fucking streets," Eggsy mutters. Though it's true that it makes missions sometimes easier, beating up stupid people is getting rather annoying. Even if he can in most of the incidents see where the idiots are coming from - he'd done his share of robbery back in the day - it's still annoying.

Eventually he starts nicking the would-be thieves' wallets and occasionally downloading porn onto their mobiles. They fucking deserve it.


	13. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by cesiarune: Eggsy tries to explain to his mum how working at the tailor shop makes him so much money when he's new and not that good at sewing? And maybe how being a tailor requires such strange hours too?

"They're like… really really fancy suits?" Eggsy tries awkwardly. "I mean seriously, you can't get a Kingsman suit for less than ten grands."

"And an untrained bloke like you can make that much a month there, just like that?" Michelle asks suspiciously, eyeing his suit. "I just want you to be honest with me luv. Is it drugs?"

"I swear mum, it's not drugs!"

"Then is it… I heard about it from Dean and the boys - about that fancy ponce you was with in the Prince. He paying for this all?"

Eggsy blanches at that - because in a way, it was. Thing was, Kingsman agents weren't actually paid salary. No, they were given inheritance. Eggsy had, along with Galahad's title, inherited everything the previous Galahad owned. House, bank account - dead dog - everything.

"That ain't it either," Eggsy says. "It's just… it's just a really good job."

"I won't be mad, you know," Michelle murmurs, stroking his hair. "He's being good to you too - I can tell."

"Fuck, mum, it's really not -" and there Eggsy's voice just has to fucking break. She hugs him, confused but caring - almost motherly even - and Eggsy tries not to break.

"He was good," he finally says. "He was the best."


	14. Post V-Day Kingsman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by chiheiko: Merlin trains new recruits in a post V-day world.

"You sure about this?" Merlin asks. "Anyone from the tech department can do it - there's about a dozen volunteers already."

"I wanna," Eggsy answers. "‘Sides, I bring out the worst in some people. And it's important we catch that shit early on, innit?"

Merlin can't argue with that - especially not now. There's no room for shitheads in Kingsman these days.

 

* * *

 

Of the dozen or so candidates only four have actually been picked out by a Kingsman agent. Merlin had found the rest himself. Most of them are ex-military, with a few martial artists and gymnasts thrown in the mix. They come from varying backgrounds and are definitely not the usual Kingsman fare, that was for certain, but he feels pretty good about the group. There's no snobby little snots in the group anyway.

There are shitheads though. That's plainly obvious the moment Eggsy walks in, so comfortable in his colourful street clothes that it's almost offensive.

"What the - seriously?" One of the recruits asks. "This is a joke, right?"

"Yeah, thought this was going to be an exclusive thing for trained experts - didn't think they were going to let just anyone walk in here."

Merlin sighs, and makes notes as the confrontation quickly and naturally escalates.

 

* * *

 

They switch the training schedule around a bit, and the water trial doesn't come until a week into training. Eggsy wanted to get a proper feel of the candidates and Merlin figures it can't hurt. They go over some of the theoretical aspects of the training during the week, getting a feel for the recruits' knowledge base as well as their personalities, slipping in IQ tests while they're at it.

In the week, Eggsy makes enemies and friends both and so the impact of him drowning is considerably heavier than it usually is.

"You play dead very convincingly," Merlin comments, handing him a towel.

"Thanks, I got a lot of practice," Eggsy says dryly.

One of the recruits drops out the next day - and so the testing begins.

 

* * *

 

In a post V-Day world, the training of Kingsman agents is, understandably, different. Merlin has added whole new courses into the process and some of the old ones have been removed.

There is new importance placed on NLP training along with psychology and psychoanalysis. The neurological wave of V-Day and its effects are studied in detail, along with other similar technologies, no matter how theoretical. There is even a whole week on theoretical mind control.

It stretches the training time by a month or so, but considering how many people have just lost it since V-Day, everyone considers it time well spent.

The dog test in the meanwhile has been abolished entirely.

 

* * *

 

Of the dozen recruits, three make it to the end. And unlike with the previous trials, there is no rivalry between them - once they've made it, they've made it. There's more than one position to be filled after all - and there's still more Kingsman positions left over.

They're still patching themselves up after V-Day, same as the rest of the world.

"There's still training left - you will be partnering with senior Kingsman agents until we've properly tested your skills and gotten a feel of your capabilities," Merlin says while leading them through the tailor shop and up to the dining room. "But as of now you're all Kingsman agents and its time to introduce you to your co-workers."

He opens the door to the dining room and shows the new agents in. Inside there are just two people - Arthur at the end of the table, and Lancelot at his right hand side.

"Gentleman," Eggsy greets them as they all gape at him in his sleek suit and neat hair cut. "Welcome to Kingsman."


	15. Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by nonymous: theft

There’s a trick to nicking something from people who know you’re a pickpocket. Eggsy’s a fucking master of that trick.

It’s pretty simple, in theory. You go after two targets. One almost in plain in sight - and other in the cover of the first. The idea is to get caught for the first theft and get away with the second.

In practice, it’s not that easy. For one it’s never a good idea to steal something from someone who knows you can do it. You’re bound to get caught eventually. And for two, it takes a level of coordination and acting that a lot of people just don’t have.

Eggsy has it though. He fucking trained to get it right.

“What about them, then?” He asks, motioning at the smartphones and tablets. “What’s so special about them?”

Harry turns and looks and just at the edge of his vision Eggsy reaches for one of the hand grenades with his left hand. His right is reaching for something else entirely.

“Nothing. That technology has caught up with the spy world,” Harry says and turns to leave. “Put it back, Eggsy.”

It. Put it back.

Eggsy whirls around, by all appearances disappointed and not a bit chagrined and doesn’t smile, doesn’t give it away, slotting the grenade back in its place.

The pen, that goes in his pocket.


	16. Photos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by anonymous: Inspired by the photoset on my dash, can we have a fix the photos in Eggsy and Harry's phone? Like what kind of pictures they would have, the story behind each picture and most importantly, who has the most couple selfies.

When you and everyone you work with wear glasses that record everything you see, there’s not much point taking pictures. As it is, Kingsman has a strict no phone selfies while on missions policy - because, you know, evidence.

They take pictures anyway.

The trick is taking them so that there are no recognizable land marks or people captured in them. And in a weird way that makes them a bit more special.

Eggsy takes pictures of things. A wine bottle and pair of glasses on a fine tablecloth - it could be from anywhere, taken by anyone. No one but he knows that Harry had fallen asleep on the table across from him after a long foot chase through Dubai of all places.

A worn Bible that looked like it had taken a couple dips in a lake, sitting on sunlit windowsill. No one but Eggsy knows it came from the bedside drawer of a cheap American motel and that some past customer had scribbled it full of the most lewd poems he’d ever read. He read some of them to Harry over the phone that night.

A hand written note on a torn piece of paper, taped to a stained coffee pot. “Don’t you dare.” Not quite the final word of an argument from the previous night. Eggsy did dare - serenading Harry only slightly off key with all the songs of My Fair Lady until the man gave in to him.

Harry’s photos are even worse.

“Were not on a mission, you know,” Eggsy mumbles from the bed, as his ridiculous fiancé crouches on the floor by the bed, carefully posing Eggsy’s bare foot so it hangs just so over the edge. He punches up the sheets and then actually pokes at Eggsy’s toes until he’s satisfied. Then he takes the picture.

Eggsy gets it sent to his phone automatically and checks it sleepily while Harry kisses his way up his bare leg. The photo is black and white with stark contrasts and dramatic shadows - slender bare toes hanging over a pair of hastily discarded formal shoes. Harry’s Kingsman issued Oxfords.

Harry is an over dramatic tosser and his ideas about photography are ridiculous. Someone should do him a favour and take away his filter privileges. Eggsy tells him as much.

“And who was it who sent everyone in Kingsman an over exposed sepia of our signet rings tied together with a ribbon?” Harry asks, winding their fingers together.

“That was totally sent from your phone, so, you.”

Harry gives him a look and then takes a close up of their interwoven fingers, just proving Eggsy’s point.


	17. Street Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by zinfandelli: yoooooo, how bout some casual magic!eggsy?

Merlin never says they can’t cheat. That, Eggsy thinks is as good as an invitation.

Besides, it’s not as if he can actually turn his sigils off, and it’s not his fucking fault everyone else in the trials is a fucking purist. If Kingsman had a no tattoo policy they should’ve told him before Harry signed him up - and they didn’t.

Still, he’s not about to risk it, so he keeps it small. Couple of strings of words on the inner soles of his weirdly formal boots. Nothing as elaborate as what he usually inscribes, nothing like the charms that make him nearly fly when he wears his wings - just a little speed boost.

Few bastard runes on JB’s collar. Okay a lot of fucking runes on JB’s collar. Eggsy might’ve not known JB was a pug when he chose his familiar but he did his research after. And wasn’t about to let his own familiar suffer from fucked up physiology just because pugs were bred all messed up these days.

Overall though he was pretty careful. He didn’t even curse the competition - though with Charlie lording his fucking rings and bracelets and fucking medallions… it was pretty damn tempting.

“Wrought by the best spellsmiths of Europe,” his fucking ass.

Still, Eggsy did his share of scrying and casting, and he might’ve carved all his fingernails full of invisible sigils. No one said he couldn’t.

So it wasn’t his fucking fault he messed up their precious nlp test.

“Bruv, you got any idea how many times people try to fucking roofie me?” Eggsy asks the somewhat exasperated Harry. “With my position at the estate? Everyone tried to knock me down.”

“Yes, alright,” Harry sighs. “How did you detect the drug then?”

Eggsy flicks him the finger, the symbols carved on the fingernail’s surface turned sickly purple. “Basic detection spell. Everyone with any fucking sense has these.”

“You… have spells on your fingernails?” Harry asks slowly, marvelling it. “How…?”

“Carved it with a needle,” Eggsy shrugs. “This is fucking nothing. You should see the shit some birds back home can do with nail polish.”


	18. Dimension Hopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by anonymous: Dimension hopping?

It takes them fourteen years to finish the machine - and of course they fuck it up.

That’s more because of a flaw in their theories than the machine itself. The machine worked fine. They just built it on the wrong branch of quantum physics.

And Eggsy isn’t sure which is sadder. That he was stuck in an alternate reality where the man he’d been sent to assassinate had never been born or the fact that their desperate plan had never had any chance of fixing their fucked up reality.

You can’t change the future. You can only create new ones.

And the machine only works backwards. He can’t even go forward to where he came from.

 

* * *

 

It’s so weird too, this place. In this reality Apple is still on the top of the tech food chain. Fucking Apple. And there’s something called Google that apparently rules most of the internet.

Eggsy wanders around London for a day or two and hacks a couple secret agencies with Excalibur’s help before checking in on Kingsman.

Or the lack of Kingsman.

After tracking down everyone he knows and finding that Merlin is working for Google, Roxy is in the Navy and Harry died fifteen years ago in the service of the RAMC, Eggsy decides that this reality doesn’t need him.

 

* * *

 

In the next reality Kingsman does exist. They work as the Queen’s personal pack of hounds because here the UK became an absolute monarchy near the end of World War I.

Valentine exists too - living on a desert island as the world’s most wealthy and influential hermit. Valentine Corporation doesn’t produce technology of any kind.

Merlin heads Kingsman, Roxy is their best sniper and Harry died under suspicious circumstances ten years ago.

Eggsy doesn’t stay long.

 

* * *

 

The UK is mostly normal in the next one - though there’s a king instead of a queen. Kingsman exists - but they’re more a mercenary organisation than a spy agency. Roxy is the current Arthur. Merlin works for the highest bidder as the world’s best hacker.

Harry was never born.

Eggsy takes only enough time to check on Valentine before leaving. There’s nothing here for him.

 

* * *

 

In the next one Harry is alive. He also almost kills Eggsy.

Breaking into Kingsman wasn’t his best idea ever but there’s a nuclear war on and the machine is running out of power - and the Kingsman vaults have everything he needs to rig up a temporary power source.

Kingsman here are like all the horror stories about the Spanish Inquisition except even worse and Harry Hart is one of their best torturers. No fucking way is Eggsy staying.

 

* * *

 

In the next one Harry is alive and so is Merlin and Roxy. Kingsman doesn’t exist - Valentine does.

Eggsy watches from the side-lines for a while. Watches Harry, a retired gentleman of some wealth go about his life. Merlin writes IT text books and Roxy is an actress. Theirs are happy and normal civilian lives.

Eggsy watches, wistful, and on the eve of V-day Excalibur hacks Valentine’s plane and Eggsy crashes it on the mountainside.

 

* * *

 

It’s not the last time he does it. In every reality where Valentine exists and V-Day is a possibility, Eggsy arranges the man’s death. In most of them he also releases the kidnapped VIPs if there are any and then destroys Valentine’s base.

It’s almost cathartic, killing the man over and over.

He never stays, though. He could - he should, Excalibur tells him, skipping universes is driving him mental - but he doesn’t. It’s never quite… right.

The Harry Hart he’s looking for just doesn’t seem to exist.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy steps behind Valentine and shoots him in the middle of his “not that kind of movie” spiel. Then, with almost fifteen years of practice and experience, he takes down Gazelle and Valentine’s henchman.

Harry Hart stares at him over the bodies, blood splattered and breathless.

Eggsy is older now, almost in his forties. And maybe if his world hadn’t gone to shit he might’ve become the gentleman Harry once wanted him to become. But he didn’t because over half of his world was massacred and the rest went fucking mad and unfortunately Eggsy is a product of his time.

In his suit, scarred and aged and severe, battle wrought and worn down by too many conflicts, he knows he looks more like a gangster than a gentleman. A killer, rather than a Kingsman.

In this reality Gary Unwin was never born. Harry’s candidate was Gale Unwin - the elder sister Eggsy never had.

Eggsy straightens his suit front and looks Harry over. Harry stares back wary and watchful, bloody, pale, bruised…

And right.

“Who are you?”

“The man who saved your life.”

(That ain’t an answer.)


	19. Eggsy Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by shadownashira: Eggsy is the youngest son of the Holmes family, or somehow related to them. Up to you if the brothers and Unwins are aware of this or not.

The first time John meets Eggsy, he's sitting slumped and bruised in the stairwell of 221b. He's also completely high.

"Looking for Sherlock then?" John asks and doesn't bother to hide his disapproval.

"Yea, is ‘e 'ere?" The kid asks - slurs really. "'E told me I could come 'ere if I needed a place to stay a while."

"Well that wasn't just his decision to make," John says, a little severe - and that's when Sherlock flounces in, full of smug satisfaction over a case solved.

He stops when he sees the young druggie. "Eggsy? What are you doing here?"

"Can I bunk on you sofa for the night, bruv?" Eggsy asks, listing against the wall. "Woulda gone in but I dropped my lock pick somewhere."

John folds his arms, glancing at Sherlock who is staring at Eggsy. "Concussion," Sherlock says then. "Sprained wrist, bruised ribs. Where you high before he beat you?"

"Fuck off," Eggsy answers, not quite managing a glare.

"You can have my room for the night," Sherlock decides and prods and pokes at the young man until he gets up. "Shower first though. Come on. "

And that's apparently that. Eggsy is gone by the time John wakes up the next morning and no more is said about it.

 

-

 

But then he's at Sherlock's parents' house for Christmas, sleeping the sleep of the inebriated on their antique sofa.

"Oh don't bother the poor dear," Mrs.  Holmes says. "It's been a bit rough on him - let him rest."

"Right," John says and then, "Um…?" But she's already bustling away.

When Mycroft sees Eggsy he makes a face like he's eaten something sour before going to another room.

Eggsy, when he wakes up, takes one look at the merry gathering in the Holmes house kitchen and then he slumps away, hunched and awkward.

"Well at least he ate something," Mrs. Holmes says with a shrug and that's that.

 

-

 

It turns out Eggsy is Sherlock's and Mycroft's nephew, by another brother John didn't know they had.

"Obviously not. Went and got himself killed years ago," Sherlock mutters derisively. "Sherringford wasn't like us. He wanted to be… normal. With a wife and whatnot. Wanted to be called Lee, too - can you believe it?"

Eggsy obviously takes more after Sherlock than anybody. John's never seen him without the scent of pot all over him. Which is a bit of a pity since it makes it hard to see if he's as brilliant as his uncles are.

It's a waste in any case.

 

-

 

Then people start disappearing. Important people, famous people - brilliant people.

Sherlock vanishes in early December.

Mycroft in late January.

And John doesn't know what to do.

 

-

 

On the fifteenth of February, the world's gone to hell and Sherlock is back. As is Mycroft.  And they're accompanied by a bruised Eggsy, who sits slumped on Sherlock's couch and for once he's not high.

He's wearing a tailored suit that must've cost more than John's monthly salary, he has a black umbrella sitting on his knees and his hair has been slicked neatly with gel.

"As a representative of the British government I demand -" Mycroft is saying.

"I'm afraid my agency is unaffiliated with any nation, even the UK. You don't have the authority to make demands," Eggsy answers, his accent pure BBC English.

Sherlock is trying to surreptitiously pick pocket Eggsy.  Eggsy slaps his hand away without even looking, and smiles sweetly. "Just say thank you, Mycroft, that'll do."

In no time flat it devolves into an outright squabble between the three of them.

John looks over them and just sighs.

Fucking Holmes family.


	20. SG1-cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Anonymous: Kingsman x Stargate (1 or SGA). Longer prompt idea - Kingsman discovers SG base, Eggsy, by curiosity or accident, goes through gate while investigating the base.

Two very significant things happen following V-day.

First, Kingsman going public. It is the not so unfortunate side effect of saving hundreds of kidnapping victims - most of whom went on to become well liked and highly respected world leaders.

The second follows the first. When Kingsman went public and the world knew about them, in them the world gained a universal and international group of problem solvers. Which in turn changes the organisation's structure rather wildly.

The training might be the same, the tech and uniform might be the same.  But they aren't spies anymore. They are public, they are famous and for some reason they are even respected. They became true knights in bespoke suits, to whom people called for aid, and who ride into the sunset after saving the day.

Metaphorically speaking of course.

So when people - or governments - have problems they wanted solved with skill and good publicity on the side, they called for the Kingsman agents.

Especially so when the problems are… unusual.

And a mountain appearing from out of nowhere is unusual indeed.

 

-

 

"This is some sci-fi shit right here," Eggsy says more to himself than anyone else, while he pilots the helicopter down.

The Mysterious Appearing Mountain of Colorado Springs is surrounded by dozens of news choppers and some military vehicles  - as many as the still limping USA had managed to get on short notice. Compared to what it might have been like pre V-day, it's a bit pathetic. But then the USA lost over 80% of its armed forces on V-day.

"Merlin, what do you have for me?" Eggsy asks as he lands on the clearing amidst the military vehicles.

"Not much before you can get a proper scan," she speaks to his ear apologetically. "We know there is some sort of structure inside and the whole thing is giving off weird readings."

"Weird like I should get a hazmat suit?" Eggsy asks.

"Weird like I have no idea what it even means. Be careful and get me a proper scan," Amelia says.

"Yes ma'am."

He's met by an elderly military man on civilian clothes when he gets out of the chopper. "You the Kingsman knight?" The American asks, taking in the signature suit and umbrella.

"Mordred of Kingsman Service," Eggsy says and holds out a hand. "And you, sir?"

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, retired," the man says, shaking his hand. "Been volunteering with the boys here since V-day, so they put me in charge of this mess."

"Pleasure," Eggsy nods. "Show me what you've got."

What they've got isn't much more than Kingsman has. Though the base's massive door is wide open, they hadn't yet gone in - waiting instead on Eggsy.  And so, after Eggsy has scanned the place and sent a drone in to check it for traps, toxins, and other threats, he heads in to investigate.

Sci-fi, it turns out, is about right.

 

-

 

The place is christened as CS Mountain and Kingsman eventually opens a whole new branch there, dedicated to the study of everything they find there.  Everything is published online in real time - that's the world they live in now. There is zero tolerance for secrets these days.

After a global violence wave though, the news about alien life our there isn't nearly as exciting as it might've been before.

Eggsy stays on as the temporary branch manager - arm wrestling Arthur over it several times. Their new Arthur was still a Merlin at heart. O'Neill stays on as military advisor along with some of his volunteers and the Pentagon sends them specialists to fill in the gaps.

It's Carter who figures out that the ring of metal in the main control room is a device that makes wormholes  - McKay figures out that the mountain came from an alternate universe.

Both are absolute adamant that they weren't going to give it back.

"Kids and their toys," O'Neill tuts and Eggsy grins.

 

-

 

A couple of days later a flying city in the shape of a gigantic tech snow flake lands in the San Francisco Bay.  It gets a bit complicated after that.


	21. Mordred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promot (kinda) by zinfandelli: yo, so you had me thinking about Eggsy's agent names all damn day today, and i have to agree i really like him as Mordred and 2nd favs is Excalibur. they're just over the edge of special snowflake to toe the still within reason line and i like our boy being special hah. Also, Mordred just gives a really awesome and dark dynamic to Eggsy's position and social standing within the organization. Always gives other knights pause when the king killer's name shows up.

It was like the best punch in the gut he ever got. In one fell swoop he got back what he lost - and lost what he gained.

Harry Hart came back, limping and bruised and one eye less, but alive and fit enough to return to active work in no time at all. And he was proud of Eggsy, which was… just fucking awesome. But that meant that the ranks of Kingsman were full.

They got a new Lancelot. Merlin became their new Arthur. Amelia in turn became the new Merlin. With Harry back, the Galahad position was covered too.

And when Harry attempted to step down, citing through somewhat gritted teeth that he was getting old for field work, their new Arthur shot him down immediately and without any room for argument. "You're Galahad, Harry, and that's fucking final."

Which left no room for Eggsy in the ranks of Kingsman Agents. Oh, there'd be a position for him in the agency - in the support staff. There were always situations when an official agent needed a bit of back up - or a quick getaway and a good getaway driver. Which was fine, just fine.

Would've been better if the agents weren't so fucking snotty about it. "Well of course he can't be made into an agent. He's not one of us," they'd mutter. "What kind of agent could you even get out if someone like him?" And, "Just think what he did to Arthur. What is he even doing here?"

It just… it fucking grated. Who was it that saved the fucking human race? Who?

Arthur and Lancelot, of course. No need to mention the support staff.

"Patience, Eggsy," Harry said to him, kind and stern all at once. "You will have your time."

Meaning if he only waited for an agent to die, he'd have a good chance of taking their title. It might take anywhere from a day to seventeen years maybe, but he'd get his chance.

Fucking fantastic.

 

-

 

Their new Arthur was a lot more active than the old one. The current Arthur was the first ever to have been first Merlin, rather than one of the knights. That gave him a perspective former Arthurs never had - and a field of view that stretched far and wide.

If he'd been a hard-ass as Merlin, he was a fucking tyrant as Arthur. And he instituted some quick, brutal changes.

Over were the days when a knight could casually saunter into enemy territory without proper equipment, backup or info and get himself killed. Gone were the days an agent could jauntily flirt with danger by wining and dining and all but revealing all his secrets to the enemy. In fact, Galahad was banned from most under cover missions, period. Apparently, Harry Hart had never been able to pretend he wasn't exactly what he was - a suave gentleman spy with a short fuse.

It was kind of hilarious. Arthur obviously didn't think so - nor did he find any of the other little mishaps the previous Arthur tolerated funny. No, he was on a Quest with a capital Q to eradicate them all - and to turn Kingsman into the best agency it could be. He was damn well succeeding too.

Eggsy watches it all happen from the side, bittersweet for it all. All of the agents were complaining - Harry the loudest of them all - but Arthur was doing a damn good job. Kingsman was forming into a sleek, well-oiled and utterly deathly machine, everything running smoother. The mission records were just about a hundred times better - most notably civilian casualties were the lowest they'd ever been.

And all that time the most action Eggsy could get was at the gym, beating the shit out if a punching bag. Which he did. A lot.

He was getting a feeling that Arthur was keeping him from… from doing fucking anything. There were times when the agents could've used someone like him for back up. But was Eggsy sent out? Of course not.

"I'm sure Arthur has his reasons?" Roxy - already four missions in and proving herself as a stellar agent - offered with sympathy.

"Yeah - reason being he secretly hates me," Eggsy muttered and proceeded to destroy the punching bag.

 

-

 

The day Bors called him the Kingsman house pet, Eggsy decided he was fucking done with this shit.

He marched into Arthur's office - now very different from how it had been in Chester King's time. There, in the light of about a hundred flat screens, he confronted Arthur.

"If you're not going to make fucking use of me, then fucking get rid of me already," he all but snarled. "Just stop wasting my fucking time!"

"What did I say to you about speaking to me like that?" Arthur asked, just as dangerous.

"Don't fucking tempt me, bruv - I'll fucking broadcast my complaints Kingsman wide. If that gets me fucking something, I'll do it and I won't fucking hesitate to be the biggest shit about it either."

He was pretty sure that would get him shot, but he was about past the point of caring. And so, it seemed, was Arthur.

"It's about the fucking time," he said and handed Eggsy a tablet. "And like your mentor, you're late. Get to work."

 

-

 

Later Eggsy figured it was part Arthur being a general shit about these things and the other part was about power. Arthur had to consolidate his standing and authority in Kingsman before he made any truly scandalous changes, and he had to prove himself utterly irreplaceable so that when he went and screwed over hundred year old traditions, people could say fuck all about it.

When Eggsy took his place at the Table, no one complained. There were looks aplenty and a few mutters but not a single outspoken comment. Because there was too much significance in the name and in the placement.

Mordred sat near the head of the Table, just across from Galahad - the old king's killer seated at the new king's left hand side. It had certain implications. Very pointed ones.

(Eggsy's s missions were generally violent, bloody and full of death.  He wasn't particularly surprised about that.)


	22. Non-human Eggsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eggsy is vaguely lovecraftian and finds humans fairly revolting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed old prompt fic

Eggsy. As hard as he tries, he can't remember the point where he might've slipped. He can't really think of any other reason as to why he got that particular name except that he might've slipped at some point, rebelling against the name _Gary_ and demanding his own instead. Chances are he was too young, his little human brain struggling to keep up with the intelligence it held, and something had fractured in between. Vocal chords and untrained mouth, stumbling over difficult syllables.

No one finds it in the least suspicious – no they think it's _endearing_. Eggsy is a cute, strange, awkward name, just fitting for a cute, strange, awkward little kid. No one finds it strange – but it bothers him so much that he can't remember where or when he slipped.

Being human is hard. They're such weird, limited creatures, humans – sacks of meat and bones contained in shell of squishy skin. How so many of them managed it so easily without thinking it all strange, he had no idea. All he knew that it never stopped being strange. Breathing and bodily function and _gravity_ of all things. Really. Being limited by something as, well, limited as human brain structure was, frankly, really annoying.

Maybe, if he gave it time, he could get used to it. Maybe.

Doubtfully.

 

* * *

 

There is a man in their house that isn't his human father, talking to his human mother in hushed tones that shouldn't carry – but Eggsy can hear every word. The impact of the word _death_ not softened at all by the gentle words it was wrapped it - it hit him like a solid blow, less due to the word itself or it's implications, but for the _feeling_ it made his mother radiate. Michelle Unwin was a sudden, overwhelming radiance of misery and Eggsy looked away, wincing.

Human misery is strange too. His human father was dead, and Eggsy knew this was the point where he should start exhibiting feelings – but those were still a bit strange for him, hard to grasp. Kind of like gravity and bodily functions, but more voluntary and more illusive, if that made any sense.

"… and as a more concrete gesture of our gratitude, we'd like to offer you a… Let's call it a favour," the strange human man says. "The nature of which is your choose. Just tell the operator _Oxfords, not brogues_ , and then I'll know it's you."

"I don't want your help!" his mother says, cries. "I want my husband back!"

Eggsy shakes a snow globe in his hand and frowns at it. That, Eggsy muses, was sorrow. Sadness. Loss. Gritty human emotions that crawl in to the soft, squishy insides of your brain and made themselves home. Strange, uncomfortable things

"What's your name, young man?" the man asks Eggsy, and asks to have the snow globe. He shakes it with less violence and makes the fake snow smoothly dance over the fake mountains and he smiles with his soft human face. All of it's just… so strange.

"You take care of this, Eggsy," he says and gives him a piece of jewellery – which Eggsy learns later on, is a medal. "Alright? And take care of your mum, too."

It is the first time anyone's asked Eggsy to do anything, really do anything, in his human life. Like the parasites of misery and sorrow, it means something. Probably.

 

* * *

 

He learns to like the gravity thing, eventually. It never stops being a bit off, but there is strange charm to it, eventually, when he learns to work with it. In his school they teaching him sports and he learns the thrill of fighting against gravity.

It's like flying, working the bar, whirling on the hops, but with more… grit to it. The constant ever-present drag of gravity and tug of air pressure, the slight wind resistance he faces when he gets just enough speed. It's almost like flying, but lot more real. Lot more _visceral._

The whole human thing starts making a bit more sense, when he finds that place where his lungs are heaving and his muscles are burning and it feels good, it feels like victory, like freedom.

Makes him wonder if it had been something like that, for the old ones, during those ancient wars, when they'd fought against their predetermined destinies, and burned their wings out in trying to reach for liberty.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy learns to swear from Dean – it curls into his developing speech patterns and makes home between his words, fucking up his vocabulary something awful. He likes it – it loosens something in him and he thinks, for a while, that maybe it makes him more human, to let his tongue loose into the slur of cussing. The pain of being hit he likes a little less, but it's just one of those things, he figures. Human things. Humans hurt so fucking much all the fucking time. Par of course, he thinks. Like bodily functions and knees that rattle when he falls from the sky, it's all part of the human experience.

It takes him years to figure out that abuse is not actually a normal human thing – and by that time it's been going on for so long that he doesn't even know what to do with the knowledge that it's not fucking normal after all. He's almost settled into the ever changing, always painful life of human Eggsy Unwin and then it turns out that it's not going like it's supposed to? What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

"You don't do nothing, you little shit," Dean says, squeezing his throat until he can't break. "You shut up, you hear me, you keep your mouth shut! Or I swear to god -"

He contemplates killing Dean, but he knows at least that that isn't okay – humans are leery about things like other humans vanishing, dying. They're weird about blood, when it's outside their bodies – as if that makes any fucking difference. Still, Dean had been careful about teaching that to him, anyway – about criminals and prisons and shit like that.

"That's where you'll end up, see," Dean says. "Like the fuck up you are, 'less you get your fucking act together and be fucking normal for once."

Eggsy is fucking up the whole human thing, but he's not sure what to do about that.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy makes the attempt to join the military and it doesn't go too well. It goes well for a while – it's, while oh so human, at least somewhat familiar. To be a warrior, to wield a weapon – he knows that, at least, even if human ideas of weaponry are… just very human. But standing in line, taking orders – he knows that, he can do that. It makes sense and, of all the things he's gone over so far, it at least seems right.

Military is, mostly, a respectable thing. It's hard to fuck up being part of a military because it's so uniform, so neatly arranged. Patterns and forms, easy to understand and hard to mess up. And there at least it won't matter if he get some shit wrong – so as long as he does his job and des it well, no one gives a shit if he can't understand some unimportant things.

Like emotions or human interactions or the allure of alcohol or all the other millions of human things he hasn't gotten down right yet.

Military makes sense – until it doesn't, until his mother starts calling when ever she can and crying at him, shouting at him. On his leave from the training she sobs at him, tells him she's losing him, like his dad.

"You'll die, like your dad, same as Lee – one day you'll just be gone! And what am I supposed to do then, when you're just gone?" she cries. "You'll die for some rich snob and they won't even shed a fucking tear for you, and it'll be just me and no one will even give a shit –"

 She just fucking _loses it_ and it stuns him so completely that he quits the marines there and then.

So apparently the military wasn't the right way to go, after all. The one thing he somewhat knows, and it's not right either. Fucking figures.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy gets a little sister and it's, perhaps, one of the weirdest things that has happened so far. The way humans make other humans is… disgusting and exhilarating and just strange. Visceral – everything about it's so visceral. And at the end of it, with pain and blood and whole lot of screaming, there was another human being – a screaming little bundle of new bones and flesh, wrapped in squishy skin.

Eggsy is the first member of his _family_ to hold his sister – his mother is passed out and Dean is who the fuck knows where. The little girl – a female of the species, how fucking weird is that – wails in his arms, disgusting and fragile all at once and Eggsy thinks that maybe this is what love feels like.

Feels like something horrible and fragile and revolting – something that's utterly, hideously dependant on him. It feels like if he lets go of her, she'd expire. She probably would too – human infants require so much care just to survive. If he doesn't keep his hold on her, she might die.

So, he loves her, and doesn't let go of her.

 

* * *

 

There are boundaries to being human and Eggsy is learning one by one which ones he can break. Human rules are easy things, most of them unspoken and largely unnecessary. He keeps away from the big ones – doesn't kill Dean no matter how easy it would be, how much better it would make things for his fragile mother and fragile sister. But the small things, he doesn't mind fucking with those.

Being human is among all the other unpleasant things, often rather boring. It's just all so limited – limited by not just things like gravity and physiology but these insipid, incomprehensible _human_ things. Like money and social stature and shit like that. Meaningless bullshit that affect some humans more than they do others for reasons he can't really understand.

Because of money and nationality and all that shit, he's limited to this one corner of the planet, everything else just as out of reach as rest of the fucking solar system. It just makes no fucking sense, being so limited, being so… stuck.

It's just so tedious. And since he's fucking up everything else so far, he doesn't see the danger in fucking things up a bit more while he's at it. And besides, if there's something he likes about being human, it's pushing his human shell into its limits.

Being quick, being silent – being fast. He likes that. Climbing up a four story building, breaking into a house and then out again with all of the valuable shit he can easily carry – yeah. It's probably not what he was put on earth to do – definitely not.

But fuck, it's something.

And if he can ease his mother's stress by paying few bills, buying his sister some new clothes, bringing in some fresh groceries, well.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy tries drugs a… few times. The first time he does, it feels like _flying_. Like he's broken a the seams, the shell of meat shattered and left behind and he's once more like he's supposed to be, free and unhindered, outside gravity's reach, up, up, _home_.

Coming down is the hugest fucking disappointment he's had in years. So of course he has to try again – and of course, the second time is nothing like the first. The second time it's such a _bodily_ experience that he feels sick in his skin for week's afterwards – feels like there's something crawling inside him, something bigger and harder than cells and proteins.

The third time it's like being under water, everything heavy and dragging and slow.

He doesn't try it again after wards – like living as a mortal creature, it just seems getting worse with time.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy settles and then doesn't. All of it grates on him, rubs him the wrong way inside his head and on his skin and he feels like screaming, like singing, like roaring out, all the fucking time. Physicality grates on him. He picks fights and gets into trouble and nicks people's wallets and keys and phones and gets beaten up and it's not enough.

He steals a car, and refuses to drive over a fox – another living creature trapped in its squishy skin, the poor fuck – and instead slams the stolen car into another, somehow more important one just because it's a police car. And then he gets into trouble because that's what humans do – they get into fucking trouble.

In lock up, facing interrogation – which involves talking and threats and it's just so damn human, all of it – Eggsy wonders. Wonders about the fucking point in it all. Humanity and living and being mortal – him being there, trapped in this fucking shell, in this fucking life.

Thinks of eighteen months in prison, trapped not just inside his skin but inside four walls, and he thinks he'd rather die – except he doesn't even know if he _can_ die.  Trapped in this physical, material filth that was _mortality_. Like fake snowflakes in a fake biosphere of a fake mountain range, inside a glass globe.

Eggsy takes out the medal he got from the soft faced man, more than half of his human age ago, and turns it around. Concrete gesture of gratitude, the man said. Concrete, like anything else about human _wasn't_.

Eggsy dials the number on the medal and says, "Oxfords, not brogues," and tries to pretend like he isn't rotting around his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never posted this one here so what the hell


	23. Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy shifts the aim from JB to Arthur, and shoots him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

Eggsy shifts the aim from JB to Arthur, and shoots him in the face.

The gun barely kicks.

The look the old man gives him once the flash passes and the smoke fades is extremely sour. And not exactly on the you've-gone-and-fucked-up-son way. He says nothing though – just stares.

"Fucking there," Eggsy says, leaning back and taking the clip out of the gun, checking the magazine. Custom Kingsman blanks – exactly as heavy as the real thing. He throws the gun on the table between them in disgust.

"You knew they were blanks," Arthur says after a pause. He sounds pissed off – barely even tries to hide it.

"Did I?" Eggsy asks, picking startled JB from the floor and settling the pug in his lap. Arthur gives him a look and utterly unrepentant, Eggsy scratches his dog's ear. "So now what? Failed that test, didn't I?"

"Hm," Arthur says and glances away – and at a hidden camera Eggsy spotted on his way in. The whole Kingsman manor is bugged throughout – it doesn't have a single unmonitored corner.

There's a distant gunshot and Eggsy glanced at the door. "Roxy," he says and looks at Arthur.

The old man touches his glasses. "How'd she do, Merlin?" He asks, staring at Eggsy. Arthur waits a moment and nods. "Feel free to give her the good news… No. He didn't."

Eggsy grinds his teeth and the old man lowers his hand. After a moment, Arthur takes out a tablet and taps at it.

"Should I pack up my shit and go?" Eggsy asks irritably after few minutes of tense silence.

"Sit," Arthur orders without looking at him. "During your first test, you were the one to break the glass. You did it with your fist – and under water too. How?"

"Spotted it earlier – the thing was weak," Eggsy shrugged. "Big pane of thin glass, no wire or any reinforcement. Bet you guys made it intentionally that way, to make it easier to break. Knew it wouldn't take much – just enough to focus the pressure and water was gonna do the rest."

"And why did you go for the door?"

"Bit dumb to not even check the bloody door, innit?"

Arthur nods with a frown and taps the screen. "Your sky diving exercise – you were the one to plan the landing, pairing everyone up."

Eggsy shrugs. "It worked didn't it?"

"It is how the sky diving exercise usually goes," Arthur agrees, and gives him an irritated look. "But why bother? Not only did you save your fellow competitors for the position as Lancelot, but you waited until the end. Almost got yourself killed."

"It was my damn plan – I had to make sure they got down all right," Eggsy says and frowns right back at the old fucker. "You getting somewhere with this shit?"

Arthur lifts a hand to forestall the question. "The NLP test."

"At that point you'd nearly drowned us for a test and Merlin faked us out with the parachutes – it got fucking obvious nothing about this shit is how it looks," Eggsy says. "Also who the fuck ties you to actual fucking train tracks? Fucking seriously."

Arthur presses his lips thinly together and stares at him.

"So what?" Eggsy asks, more and more irritated now. "Roxy's the new Lancelot, right? So the fuck it matters?"

Arthur scoffs and nods at the gun. "If you figured out they were blanks, why didn't you shoot the dog?"

"Why the fuck would I shoot my dog? I've spent months training JB, he's a good dog and I sure as fuck won't shoot him just because some old fuck tells me to," Eggsy scoffs. "I know fuck all about you – for all I know you're some fucking traitor fucking with me. Besides Merlin's been banging on about fucking teamwork since day one. The dogs were a teamwork exercise. Be one fucked up team where you go shooting your team mates at the drop of a fucking hat."

Arthur looks fucking disgusted at that. "You have failed the knight trials," he says, scoffing.

"Big fucking surprise," Eggsy snarls and moves to get up. "I'll be –"

"Sit down," Arthur snaps at him and Eggsy sits. The old man takes a steadying breath. "You've failed the knight trials," he repeats and hands over the tablet. "And entered the king trials."

Eggsy pauses at that, staring at him, at the tablet. "What?"

Arthur looks away. "Kingsman trials are in two part – every test engineered for two objectives. For finding knights – loyal and capable agents for the Kingsman Agency… and for finding kings – leaders capable of seeing beyond the surface, and leading the Knights. You've done well in the knight trials. Your scores in the king trials are similarly exemplary."

Eggsy blinks. "Wait. So me shooting you instead of the dog –"

"A knight is expected to do as he's asked – a king does what is right," Arthur says sourly and gives him a disdainful look. "Forty years of waiting and eighteen candidate trials and it's a little prick like you, who's suited to be the next Arthur. Go fucking figure."


	24. King Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation to Trials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

Eggsy stares in disbelief at Arthur and Harry, sitting calmly in the Kingsman dining room. He's not the only one.

"What," Eggsy says, "the actual fucking _shit_?"

Harry sips his drink and Arthur makes a face at Eggsy over his tablet. "Merlin, Lancelot," he greets the Merlin and Roxy, who has a gun in hand and is nervously looking at the two members of Kingsman – who should by all right's be _dead_. "You two are dismissed."

"Sir," Merlin says and Eggsy glances at him. The guy is still in pilot uniform and he looks calm as fucking anything.

"Merlin, what –" Roxy starts to say, but he takes her by the shoulder.

"Come on. Time to get you fitted for a suit," Merlin says with grim sort of smile and calmly steers her away, leaving still blood stained Eggsy alone with two dead men.

The world's gone top shit, there's probably millions of people dead and Harry Hart and Chester fucking King are sitting smug and calm as fucking anything in Kingsman. After one of them was shot in the head. And the other Eggsy killed himself.

Neither has a fucking mark on them.

"What?" Eggsy asks and then closes his eyes in realisation. "Shit. Fucking Kingsman."

Arthur sighs and glances at Harry who has sort of amused not-smile on his face. "He's a charming little snot, your candidate," Arthur says and leans back, looking at Eggsy. "Sit down."

Eggsy sits down, collapsing at the end of the table and smothering the urge to cover his face in his hands. "Fucking Kingsman," he mutters again and then looks over his hand at the two old fucks at the other end. "All of it was a fucking test? All of it?"

"King trials are by necessity tad more serious than knight trials," Arthur answers with a scoff – directed more at smug looking Harry than at Eggsy. "Let's go over your performance then, shall we?"

Eggsy really doesn't want to.

"First, when Galahad died, why did you come here?" Arthur asks, looking at him over the tablet.

"Where the fuck else was I supposed to go?" Eggsy asks, glaring.

"You could've gone to Merlin," Arthur points out.

"Yeah, well. Merlin's Merlin. You're _Arthur_ ," Eggsy mutters and leans back, slumping against the back rest of the fancy ass chair. "I figured you knew what the fuck was going on, and whatever happened after, that was your call."

"Hm," Arthur agrees and looks down at the tablet. "And my betrayal?"

Eggsy snorts and looks at the table between them. "You're a dick," he says. "Wasn't exactly unexpected." Though seriously, after the fucking dog test, he should've fucking expected it.

Arthur arches an eyebrow at that, and Harry looks quickly away, smothering a smile against the brandy glass. "Your ease in believing the worst in your superiors is duly noted," the leader of Kingsman mutters and looks at the tablet again. "As is your talent in sleight of hand, something not previously shown during your trials. Any other unmentioned abilities?"

"I got a mean right hook, I could show you," Eggsy mutters and folds his arms. Then, when Harry casts him a disapproving look at the mess he's making of his suit, he relents. "Parkour, lock picking, general thievery, burglary… you know. Common petty thug shit."

"Hm," Arthur answers and glances at Harry pointedly.

"After all he's done, you're still giving me that look," Harry says and lowers his glass. "It's no wonder you've had to push retirement so much. Your standards are too fucking high."

"Hmph," the old fuck answers and turns to look at Eggsy. "Glasses," he says, and with sigh Harry takes his set from his pocket while Eggsy does the same. Arthur points to one of the paintings – which under the VA glasses turns into a screen.

It shows a slowed down clip of Eggsy and Arthur sitting on that very table, just the two of them. Arthur pauses the clip at the point where he himself is pouring the brandy, and Eggsy is staring at his neck.

"You noticed the implant scar," Arthur says, and lets the clip play out. Eggsy's face is shown clearly in it, him glancing at the glasses. "And within 5 seconds decided to kill me."

On the clip Eggsy pointed at the paintings, Arthur looked away, and Eggsy switched the glasses around.

"Never letting a thing show," Harry says, sounding satisfied as he glances at Eggsy. "Well done."

Eggsy glares at him wordlessly and turns to Arthur. "You knew I knew about the pen?" he asks irritably.

"Kingsman facilities are all monitored – I know Harry showed the armoury to you," Arthur agrees and glares right back at him. "One mention and the slightest possibility of betrayal and you didn't even hesitate."

"I checked your pulse. I stabbed you in the _neck_ ," Eggsy says accusingly.

"The brandy was drugged – just not with that particular drug," Arthur shrugs. "And false bit of skin is hardly a new trick."

"How'd you get the countdown clock for Valentine's fucking thing, then?"

"How do you suppose?" Arthur asks, giving him a pointed look. "From Valentine."

Eggsy stares, opening his mouth and then closing it. Then he opens it again. "What the fuck?"

"The Valentine mission has been on going for close to three years now – it took priority," Arthur explains. "We had close to five hundred missing VIPs and with Southglade Mission Church a risk of even greater threat to the entire global population. Every Kingsman agent has been on this since Galahad was first hospitalised. My going under cover is hardly surprising."

"But… the chip?"

"Merlin removed it earlier," Arthur shrugs and leans back. "The tech Valentine used was advanced, I will grant you that – but Kingsman has been at this for far longer than he has been. Problem was we couldn't find his location before the actual count down clocks were sent out. Once that was done, we could act – and it only made sense to test you while we were at it."

Eggsy stares and abruptly realises that he hasn't actually seen any footage of the world outside yet. All he has the map in Valentine's base, going red as the SIM cards activated, and… Merlin's voice in his ear, telling him the world's going to shit.

Merlin, who was in on all of this.

"You're shitting me," Eggsy says flatly.

"We had seven other agents inserted in Valentine's base before Merlin got you and Lancelot there," Arthur says. "Among other things, they hacked Valentine's system, fed false information in. The V-day never worked. We just made it seem like it did."

"And the implants?" Eggsy asks, shaking his head. "I'm guessing we didn't blow off the heads of major world leaders for nothing?"

"Their activation was only base-wide," Arthur agrees. "The world leaders are still in possession of their heads, in as much as they ever were."

"I can't fucking believe this," Eggsy groans and runs hands over his face, knocking his glasses askew.

"Don't be so disappointed – the threat was very real on site," Harry comments idly. "You being pinned, that was very real. And your order to activate the implants was inspired."

"Fuck you," Eggsy grunts at him.

"Speaking of which – your order to Merlin to activate the implants," Arthur says and lowers the tablet, crossing his hands on the table. "You would have killed eight presidents, sixteen royals and forty one major government officials, including close to thirty prime ministers. You think it was justified?"

"Obviously corrupt politicos who threw their lot with Valentine and agreed to kill off most of the world population – versus most of the world's population?" Eggsy asks and glares at him. "That isn't even a fucking choice."

Harry looks proud. Arthur looks disgusted.

"Imagine the chaos we'd have, if that would actually happen," the old fuck says. "Dozens of governments without leaders -"

"And the chaos of billions dead world wide is better?" Eggsy asks cuttingly. "Fucking seriously. You can replace leaders – they fucking come and go. You can't replace entire global work force. Valentine was planning to kill, what, six billion people? That's truck drivers and store clerks and farmers and fucking plumbers – fucking _sewer workers_. That's the whole fucking global infrastructure, right there. You think we'd fucking survive, with all those people gone?"

Arthur glares – Eggsy glares right back.

"He has you there," Harry says smugly and casts a look at Eggsy. "You did well."

"Fuck you, bruv," Eggsy says and points a finger at him. "You should be dead. No way you got a blank into Valentine's gun. How the fuck aren't you dead?"

"Valentine's aim was off by about a foot – and I was planning to die there anyway as part of your training exercise, so I had fake blood in hand," Harry answers with a shrug. "It was rather lucky that it was Valentine who did it."

"Fucking lucky my fucking _ass_ –"

"That's enough, Eggsy, stand down," Arthur says sharply and stares at him until Eggsy settles to glare at him. Then he smiles. "I was pissed off too, when the previous Arthur did this to me," he admits begrudgingly. "Question is, are you pissed off because we made a fool of you, or because you didn't figure it out?"

Eggsy grunts and doesn't answer.

"Thought so," the old man said and stood up. For the first time that Eggsy's seen him, he moves awkwardly – there's a pop of joint and he lets out a irritated sigh. "It's about fucking time, too," he mutters and looks at Eggsy. "There's still more to come – you will need more specialised training than regular knight. But for now… Welcome to Kingsman… Arthur."


End file.
